Refuge
by Nilmandra
Summary: Set in Minas Tirith after the war. Frodo struggles with the aftermath of the Ring's Destruction and receives unexpected help from the wise.


Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to the esteemed J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema. I borrow them carefully and gently, and promise to return them intact and unharmed at the end of the story. Lord Elrond assures me I will make no money on this endeavor whatsoever and I believe him.  
  
Refuge  
  
Frodo sat on a high wall of the city, hidden in the shade of the White Tower of Ecthelion. From this vantage point he could see the dwarves and men laboring over the stone and metal that would be the new gates of the city. In the main courtyard, less easy to see, there were wood elves restoring the gardens and fountains to a beauty and glory long forgotten by the current inhabitants. The day was warm and a light breeze ruffled the standard flying above the tower.  
  
While others about the city were in their summer garments, many sweating with the work of their labors, Frodo was clad warmly in his coat, and his elven cloak was covering him from chin to furry toes. He shivered a bit, and moved himself slightly to catch the rays of sunshine that had recently abandoned him.  
  
With the sun once again warming his face, he closed his eyes and pictured again the rolling green hills of the Shire. This mental picture had been framed and hung in a quiet corner of his mind; visited whenever he could direct his thoughts to this private refuge. He had held on to this image from Weathertop to Rivendell, until falling finally into oblivion at the Bruinen Ford. The picture had sat unvisited through much of his recovery, as Rivendell had its own beauty and wonders to behold and the refuge of his mind was unneeded. The refuge had been visited again often as they departed south, through the cold and unrelenting harshness of the mountains and the dark passages of Moria. The sanctuary of Lothlorien necessitated far fewer visits, but upon leaving the picture was again regularly attended. Those visits had sustained him through the Emyn Muil and Ithilien. The picture faded as he entered Mordor, and the refuge was closed to him, replaced by the great, red, lidless eye of Sauron. The eye had filled his every thought and allowed him no respite.  
  
When he had awakened in Cormallen, and seen the beauty of Ithilien, and the faces of beloved friends that he thought never again to behold, he had no need to visit his refuge for there was not a mental image that could compete with the countenances of Merry and Pippin, Gandalf and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. They had sustained him, and his recovery was slow and gentle as they carefully tended his many wounds and held his hand through the nightmares that plagued and tormented him.  
  
In Minas Tirith they now lived; Merry and Pippin and Sam all recovering well from their injuries; Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and Pippin all in service to Gondor. Frodo remained fragile, his healing slow and his sleep haunted. He drew strength once again from the image of the Shire and his desire grew to return home.  
  
"There he is," a familiar voice whispered, approaching with quiet footsteps.  
  
Frodo stirred as a comforting hand was laid on his brow, and his eyes fluttered open.  
  
"Hello Aragorn," he murmured sleepily, his eyes drifting closed again as he returned to his refuge.  
  
"Hello Frodo," Aragorn's hand caressed the side of Frodo's face, then slipped beneath the cloak to find the pulse point at his wrist. "You have a fever again, little one. How do you feel?"  
  
Frodo smiled slightly, wryly, as he pondered the answer to that question. His eyes still closed, he held that big hand close to his heart, savoring the warmth around his cold fingers.  
  
"Frodo?" Aragorn was persistent.  
  
Frodo reluctantly opened his eyes, sad to see the picture fade. He sighed and sat up a bit, Aragorn helping him so he didn't need to use his maimed hand to support himself.  
  
"I don't feel right," he finally answered. Frodo pondered what words he could use to describe his well being, for none seemed adequate. "Although I believe I have forgotten what, exactly, 'right' feels like."  
  
Aragorn laughed. "Can you tell me instead what seems wrong?" He still held Frodo's hand, gently massaging the cold fingers, careful of the nub.  
  
Frodo looked away, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. The overwhelming thought that he might easier list what was right suddenly consumed him. A small sob shook his frame, and he was helpless to stop it. Aragorn gently cupped his chin, tried to turn Frodo's face back to him, but the cry of dismay that issued from Frodo's lips smote his heart, and he instead gathered the little hobbit gently into his arms, cradling him to his chest. The sobs wracked Frodo's fragile body, choking the breath from him and tears streamed from his eyes.  
  
Aragorn held him gently, tears streaming unbidden down his own cheeks, and was grateful when he felt the touch of his wife as she seated herself next to him on the wall. Arwen stroked the dark curls of the Ringbearer's head, whispering soothing words in elvish. Frodo gradually quieted, his breaths becoming even and regular once again, his tearstained cheeks finally relaxing as he drifted back into sleep.  
  
"Come, Estel, let us bring him inside," Arwen rose and opened the door that led back into the tower. Aragorn followed her slowly, wondering what burden was weighing so heavily on Frodo's mind that a simple question should elicit such a torrent of emotion. Arwen led them to a small room within the palace, close to their own.  
  
Aragorn lifted one eyebrow. Arwen caught the unspoken message, and answered the wordless question. "Frodo is unwell, my love. He is drifting from us, his physical condition has ceased to improve and I think has even worsened. Mentally, I do not know what walls he is hiding behind. I just know they are growing taller with each passing day. I want him close to us."  
  
Aragorn smiled grimly. "As do I, however he may not wish this attention. I do not wish to suffocate him either."  
  
Arwen smiled as she spread back the bedclothes, and motioned for Aragorn to lay his small bundle there. The bed and furniture were small; the room was meant to be for their children one day. She hoped the appropriate sized furniture would bring comfort to Frodo. Arwen removed his cloak and jacket, and covered him with warm blankets. Frodo burrowed into the soft pillow and curled into himself, fast asleep.  
  
"I will try not to suffocate him," she promised Aragorn sincerely. "Let us hope that he will allow us to care for him, for his physical health must be restored for him to overcome the evil that continues to torment his mind."  
  
Aragorn wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. An occasional tear still slid from his own eyes. "When I think of what Frodo and Sam did; of what they suffered; and of how powerless I am to heal him of these hurts." Emotion choked the words from him.  
  
Arwen held him tight as his own grief was released in quiet tears of sorrow.  
  
* * * * * * * Frodo lay beneath the Party Tree, dappled sunlight shimmering through the leaves and warming his face. He could faintly hear the waters trickling through the brook and the sounds of hobbit children playing merrily in the field. He lay quietly, savoring the moment between wakefulness and sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, and found the sun had fled. It was dark, but it was not night. The sweet green grass he was lying in had turned brown and dry, and the party tree had lost all her leaves. He saw the children, dressed in rags, their hungry faces staring at him. He heard the shriek and looked quickly up into the sky. Nazgul! They had come to the Shire! He leapt to his feet and frantically began motioning for the children to drop into the tall grass, to hide. They wouldn't move, didn't seem to notice the great winged beast bearing down on them or the horrific shrieking that made Frodo grasp his head in agony. He ran towards them, but couldn't reach them. No matter how fast he ran, how far he reached, they were always out of his grasp. He fell to the ground, sobbing in despair...  
  
"Frodo, Frodo, wake up, little one," Arwen's soothing voice invaded his dreams. "Please, Frodo, hear my voice. The Nazgul are gone. They are destroyed. You destroyed them."  
  
Frodo calmed, his struggling ceased. He tried to move, but was tangled in bedclothes. The restraint frightened him and he began to thrash once more.  
  
The bedclothes were stripped off him, and warm hands lifted him, straightening his nightshirt. Frodo settled again, his movements no longer restricted.  
  
"His fever has risen again," Aragorn whispered softly. "He is delirious."  
  
"He needs to drink this," Elrond handed Arwen a cup of tea. "I hope it will both ease the fever and provide him with dreamless sleep."  
  
Arwen lifted Frodo into her lap and tipped his head back. She gently massaged his cheek until he opened his mouth slightly, and then dribbled the tea in, stroking his throat to encourage him to swallow. Elrond dampened cloths and sponged the little hobbit, helping Arwen to change his nightshirt and then settling him back upon clean sheets.  
  
"Where is Sam?" Elrond inquired, turning to Aragorn.  
  
"He sat with Frodo most of the day. His presence, his touch seems to provide comfort to Frodo, even in his delirium," Aragorn answered, smiling. "But Samwise is weak yet too and I am afraid I had to order him to bed. Gandalf is watching over him this eve."  
  
"If loyalty were defined by a person, it would be Samwise Gamgee," Elrond said with a smile. "I will sit tonight with Frodo. You must rest, and prepare yourselves for court tomorrow."  
  
"Thank-you, Ada," Arwen leaned over and kissed him. She then turned and bent over Frodo, kissing him softly on his fevered brow and stroking his head thoughtfully. It was with great sadness that she finally admitted to herself that he would never recover from his wounds.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Elrond sat in the darkness, listening to the slow and deep breathing of the small form burrowed in the bed. The fever had indeed broken, and Frodo slept a dreamless sleep induced by the sedatives Elrond had slipped into the tea. Elrond had sat on the bed earlier, one hand on Frodo's brow, the other on the scar of his shoulder wound. The wound felt so cold, a radiating cold that spread down his side and arm.  
  
Elrond sensed what his daughter had also: the Ringbearer would never recover from his wounds. He had suspected it in Imladris, had spoken with Mithrandir about it. It was with heavy hearts and some degree of guilt that they had watched the Ringbearer set off on his Quest. Guilt, for they knew he might not survive; and if he did he might be broken as the creature Gollum was broken. His heart and soul were so deeply violated by the evil of the ring; the evil so entwined within him, that the destruction of the ring tore him as marrow from bone and left him so shredded that not even the finest of thread in the most skilled surgeon's hand could close the wound.  
  
Elrond sighed softly, watching the Ringbearer sleep. He sensed rather than heard someone entering the room behind him, and turned slightly to behold Galadriel in the doorway. She nodded to him, and silently approached the bed. She placed one hand on Frodo's brow and studied him quietly. She could feel the damage done within him; see the refuge he had established deep in his mind and knew he visited it often, for it was the anchor of his sanity. She pulled a chair up next to Elrond and joined him in silent contemplation.  
  
"Arwen wishes to offer him her place on the ship to Valinor," Galadriel said quietly, watching for any nuance of emotion on Elrond's face.  
  
"I know," he answered. He faced Galadriel. "It is hers to give."  
  
Galadriel watched him silently.  
  
"She has made her choice," he said finally. "I do not begrudge her this kindness. She will be a fine Queen."  
  
Galadriel smiled, reached to him gently and stroked Elrond's cheek. "She is a fine queen. You have raised her well. Letting go will be the hardest trial you will face." She turned again to the Ringbearer. "Permission is granted for the gift. We shall leave it for Arwen to offer to him."  
  
Galadriel paused, and stroked Frodo's head again. "He must go home to the Shire first. He needs to regain what he has lost, see his home restored, that he might willingly leave it again. He will go where Sam cannot follow, not yet anyway. I hope we may help him find healing there."  
  
Galadriel rose gracefully, and kissed Elrond on the cheek before sweeping silently from the room.  
  
* * * * * * Frodo awoke to the sunlight streaming in the room. He glanced at the ceiling and walls without recognition, and tried to sort out where he was and how he had come to be in this place.  
  
"Good Morning Frodo," Arwen appeared next to the bed. She felt his brow and stroked his cheek. "The fever is nearly gone. You look much better today."  
  
Frodo flushed a little, embarrassed he did not know where he was, and concerned to think the Queen had attended him.  
  
Arwen laughed at his discomfiture. "Samwise is obtaining breakfast for the both of you, and will help you to bathe and change. I believe you have some other visitors who would like to see you today; and you may visit as long as you do not become overtired."  
  
"I don't recall how I came to be here," Frodo admitted. "Was I ill again?"  
  
Arwen took his maimed hand gently in hers. "Yes, you were ill again. Aragorn and I found you sitting on the wall, and brought you here. My father has tended you. We would have you stay here for at least a few days, Frodo. It would gladden our hearts to have you near, at least until you are feeling a little stronger."  
  
"I do not wish to be a burden. I do not wish to have .to have you see me like this," Frodo mumbled, speaking the words with great difficulty.  
  
Arwen knelt beside the bed, tears in her eyes. "You are no burden, Frodo Baggins. We know we ask much, for perhaps you feel vulnerable in illness, but we are your friends and it would honor us if you allow us to ease you."  
  
Frodo wiped his eyes and lifted his chin to meet the gaze of the Queen. He kissed her hand, "I am the most fortunate hobbit in all of Arda to have friends such as you."  
  
The Return of the King: Chapter VI Many Partings  
  
..And Frodo went to the King as he was sitting with the Queen Arwen by the fountain, and she sang a song of Valinor, while the Tree grew and blossomed. They welcomed Frodo and rose to greet him and Aragorn said:  
  
"I know what you have come to say, Frodo: you wish to return to your own home. Well, dearest friend, the tree grows best in the land of its sires; but for you in all the lands of the West there will ever be a welcome. And though your people have had little fame in the legends of the great, they will now have more renown than any wide realms that are no more.'  
  
.....But the Queen Arwen said: "A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar, with whom your life has been woven!"  
  
And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo's neck. "When the memory of the fear and darkness troubles you," she said, "this will bring you aid."  
  
The End 


End file.
